


I'm Getting Sick of Your Sheet

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Implied First Time, John in a Sheet, Johnlock (of course!), Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sherlock's sheet, forming a relationship, it was fun writing this, no really, sherlock in a sheet, sorry. Its only these tired old eyes that have read it., that was the sort-of prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would Sherlock do if John wore a sheet around the flat for a day, showing off brief glimpses of his sexy, soldier body and soft(ish!) stomach?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Getting Sick of Your Sheet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deduce-my-heart (linds7)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linds7/gifts).



> So I wrote most of this on the way to Florida on the way to a week long conference. I was kinda sleep deprived, but I think this turned out okay. Hope you all like it! Please comment/kudos as much as you like. And if you find a mistake, please let me know!

John was doing It again. And he was doing It on purpose. Sherlock was sure of it. For those not in the know, 'It' was walking around in a sheet, just as Sherlock had that disastrous day at the Buckingham Palace.

And that meant pantsless.

Now, before any questions arise, of course Sherlock hadn't been looking on purpose to find out this deliciously decadent piece of information. It had simply been one more deduction than he had expected. Sherlock had only been paying attention the most cursory attention to John with his sexy soldier body and softening stomach so he could later analyse the data to see if it could be useful for a case (just as ALL John related information was). Or in case something happened to John (which was unfortunately getting more likely add the days went by; much to Sherlock's chagrin, they both were only getting older) heaven forbid.

Today though, today was day fifteen of John's Great Pantsless adventures in Life and Sherlock was going mad.

Over the course of these last two and some weeks, at some point during the day, John would come out of his room in only his bed sheet, be it in the wee hours of the morning for tea, the noon hour for lunch (even if he'd been dressed earlier in the day!) on lazy days, or the late evening after work to try and rouse Sherlock from The Work.

This usually worked. Mainly because not only did it rouse him from whatever he was doing at the time, it also aroused him, to the point to where he couldn't focus on anything but John (not that this didn't happen at some other points on any given day).

As one could surmise, this was a problem. And as far as Sherlock could tell, there were two solutions:

  1) Ignore the situation and it might go away (unlikely scenario. John may not even realize if Sherlock was ignoring him.)

  2) Retaliate, i.e. walk around the flat in various states of dress and undress, possibly revive the sheet himself?

(Little did Sherlock know that there was a third option which was: 3) Declare his feelings in an overly romantic way and ravish John like some sort of Victorian romance novel (though John would have thoroughly and readily reciprocated this action, but Sherlock didn't know that, now did he?))

So, of the two, the second was invariably the preferable one, and it was not because he got to walk around the flat in naught but a sheet in front of John. It was not.

* * *

And so it began.               

Sherlock started off with simple things- no longer wearing his suit jacket all the time- he took it off as soon as the got home whether he was experimenting or not- now wearing shirts with even more buttons undone, slowly graduating to shirtless with pyjama trousers after many stints of the same with a robe- before finally resurrecting The Sheet after three weeks of his own endeavours in undressing.

It was interesting to see John's reaction. Thank god for mind palaces, Sherlock thought, while his mind went and toddled off to memorize, categorize, idolize, then finally place and analyse John's reaction.

John himself was sitting on the sofa in a sheet, the top pooled in his lap leaving him (‘Wonderfully!’ Sherlock’s sappy inner emotions supplied) bare chested. So for Sherlock to appear in such a way- why he was practically begging John's inner Victorian to come out for a ravish. In short terms, John's reaction was thus: a slight reddening of the cheeks and a duck of the head- arousal and attraction, but embarrassment at the feel of the former?- dilation of the pupils- since there hadn't been a drastic change in lighting in the last fifteen seconds, Sherlock was going to guess attraction and arousal again- and though Sherlock couldn't take John's pulse, he would have bet ten quid that it was elevated.

So. John was attracted to him. And he was walking around him in various states of undress.

And now here he was, practically naked in front of John, and he had no idea what to do with this new evidence that quite eloquently contradicted the 'not gay' comment.

So, as Sherlock was wont to do, he tried to do several somethings at once, which in this instance were 1) flee, 2) talk his way out of this situation, and lastly 3) walk toward John. (This last action could only be attributed to Sherlock's caged libido which had discovered a way to further its own agenda, by way of short-circuiting the rest of Sherlock entirely (so far, results were promising, but tests were still taking place).) All this happened in a matter of possibly thirty seconds, at the end of which Sherlock ended up falling and managing to get so tangled up in his sheet that he would have to have help getting up and his sheet ended up showing more than it covered.

And his mouth was running the entire time. "John, I'm so sorry. Didn't realize you were out here. Well, I did, but I didn't know you weren't dressed. Silly me, not observing, how could I? I'm going to just leave now. Maybe. If I could. But I don't want to ask for help right now because-" Now, please understand, when Sherlock had fallen, be had fallen flat on his back and commenced his monologuing so it is perfectly feasible that he never saw or heard John get up from the sofa and come towards him.

Sherlock finally stopped said monologue when he saw John standing over him, sheet wrapped around his waist, one eyebrow quirked.

"Because..." John supplied.

"Because you would have to take more of my sheet off of me," Sherlock mumbled, glancing away.

"What was that? Couldn't quite hear you," John said, coyness seeping into his tone.

Sherlock shot him a baleful glare, which was quite ineffectual from the floor. "You'd have to take off more of my sheet. My hands are trapped."

"Well then," John replied, hunkering down to sit on his heels. "We'll just have to fix that, now won't we?"

This is how John came to finally begin untangling Sherlock from his knotted-up bed sheet, Sherlock staring him in the eye the entire time as more and more of his pale skin was unveiled to John's eyes.                                         

The look in John's eyes, though. It wasn't the look that teasing flatmates use. It was the playful flirting that Sherlock had witnessed happening so very often, but behind it was a wariness, a slight apprehension. Which was understandable seeing as how Sherlock was scared out of his wits as well.

It was because it was new ground, never even seen before, let alone explored. And as Sherlock continued to make eye-contact he finally showed his own feelings to show in his eyes, long repressed and denied, but finally realized at long last. His hands finally free, Sherlock reached for John’s face, so close to his own, to cradle it. Sherlock’s eyes flicked back and forth between John’s, searching them for something, some form of assent. John stayed where he was, difficult though it may have been, crouched as he was and allowed Sherlock to do as he may.

Having finally seemed to reach a decision, Sherlock levered himself up closer to John- and kissed him.

Sherlock gave an internal sigh of relief when John began to respond at once, bringing their mouths more firmly together, slanting their faces so their noses didn't bump. Their tongues danced across the other’s lips, asking for then gaining entrance. Soon though, they broke apart and just breathed in each other's air, foreheads touching.

John’s eyes were closed, but Sherlock’s were wide and staring, glazed over with adoration and just a touch of lust.

“You know, staying crouched like this is really uncomfortable.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply, beginning to sit up.

Looking at him quizzically, and quite easily holding him down, John asked, “And where do you think you’re going, mister?”

Pursing his lips and blinking a few times in return, Sherlock answered, “My room.”

“Oh,” John said, awkwardly moving to get up himself.

Now Sherlock was the one throwing around quizzical looks. Also quite easily pulling John down on top of him and shifting fully onto his back once more, Sherlock could feel John on every part of him. It was wonderful.

“You didn't quite let me finish,” Sherlock breathed, his breath wafting over John’s face.

“Oh?”

“No. After that statement, I was going to invite you to come with me, but it seems you decided to jump to your own conclusions without all the evidence.” Sherlock smirked. “And what do I always say about theorizing without all the facts?”

John rolled his eyes. “Well then, I do believe that I have to ask,” John said, a mischievous note sneaking into his voice. “Is that invitation still available?”

Sherlock screwed up his face in faux concentration. “Hmm… I don’t know. I might not have the time. I'm a very busy man, you know,” Sherlock responded, adding a mock serious nod at the end.

“Then I guess all the people that are eagerly awaiting your company will just have to bow to my interests. They,” John drew out the syllable, adding a proprietary nip to Sherlock’s lips, “can all go bugger off.”

Sherlock smirked and rolled them till he was on top, then got up, reaching down to help John. Once both men were up and facing each other, they couldn't help but fall into a fit of giggles (yes, giggles! It's what they do!), realizing the sheer ridiculousness of the situation- both of them dressing (or would it be undressing?) in a sheet to gain the others attention while all along helplessly in love with each other.

It was them all over.

As they faced each other, one hand clasping their sheet closed on their waist while the other hand gripped the other’s hand, they finally calmed. Once again, Sherlock rested his forehead against the shorter man’s, this time closing his eyes, accepting at last that this was indeed happening. He breathed in the air surrounding John, the scent of him. John smiled and began to draw Sherlock back to Sherlock's room

When they entered the room, both men turned to face the bed, as if finally realizing what was going to happen in just a short time.

And they were okay with that. Captain ‘Three Continents’ Watson and the not-so-virgin-as-people-thought-him-to-be virgin? They knew exactly what they were doing.

With a warm look in his eyes and a teasing smirk on his face, Sherlock turned to John and said, “You know, I'm getting rather sick of your sheet.”

With a warm look and a smile of his own, John replied, “And I'm getting rather tired of yours as well.

So the two men that knew exactly what they were doing? They got down to doing it.

 

 


End file.
